


Hopeful Innocence

by JAM_MM



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: But actually dealing with the issues instead of ignoring them, Canon Compliant, Fix-it fic?, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Season 6 Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAM_MM/pseuds/JAM_MM
Summary: Here's a little experiment, instead of ignoring all of our issues and the serious trauma that we have been through and pretending like that's a normal way to live.  Like everything in life would be fine if we did.  Let's sort through some of that shit and see what happens.  Let's, for a second, pretend that we thought it was possible to live a happy fucking life.





	1. Mickey sees a shrink

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm late to the Shameless bandwagon, binged the entire series a couple months ago when the flu had me laid up for weeks on end. So, I'm just going to throw my name in the hat here and try my best to make sense of what happened from the break-up forward. It is canon in the sense that everything up to Mickey's incarceration happened and after Ian visited him, then things start to change, however, Mickey and Ian don't change who they are. Well, technically they do, that's kind of the whole point of this little experiment, to see what kind of happiness we can get these two into if they actually dealt with some of the shit that was thrown at them instead of just ignoring it...

After the last visit with Ian, Mickey started writing letters to him. Nothing had made sense to Mickey for a long time. His life had felt like a walking contradiction for years. But he had meant what he said to Ian, that what they had, had made him feel free. When he was with Ian, it was the only time he didn’t feel the confusion of who he was in stark contrast with who he was supposed to be. It may have taken him longer than Ian would have liked, but he eventually got there. He didn’t have much time to enjoy it, because it wouldn’t be his life if shit didn’t go south real quick as soon as he had the audacity to feel anything resembling happiness.

 After the last visit with Ian, Mickey was more confused than ever. That was not the person that he fell in love with, that he risked everything to be with. Mickey couldn’t get the image of Ian’s dead eyes and vacant stare out of his head. On his front porch, Ian had adamantly insisted that he was not broken. That he could not be fixed. And Mickey was no expert in being bipolar, but he did consider himself an expert in all things Ian Gallagher. And Ian Gallagher looked pretty fucking broken to him.

 At first, Mickey had felt nothing but anger. Anger spurred by humiliation at the admission that Ian had to be paid to visit him. But Mickey had nothing but time to think through all the emotions that he initially refused to admit were there. He eventually came to a determined mindset when it came to Ian fucking Gallagher. Mickey had decided that if Ian couldn’t see outside the fog in his brain, well then Mickey would just have to be patient. Ian was patient when Mickey couldn’t see past his own fog. Ian had seen past it, had pushed Mickey little by little to accept who he was and teach him how to love. Mickey owed Ian his patience.

 Patience wasn’t always Mickey’s strong suit, but that was the thing about love, it strengthened your weaknesses. It made him want to be a better person. _Ian_ made him want to be a better person. Mickey wasn’t sure he would be able to live with himself if he had turned his back on Ian now, after everything they had been through. Logically, Mickey knew that his patience might not produce what he ultimately wanted from Ian. But from where Mickey was sitting, he already didn’t have what he wanted from Ian.

 So Mickey started going to the prison library whenever he could. He wanted to learn everything he could about bipolar disorder. Mickey thought that maybe part of the problem was that he still didn’t understand it, didn’t understand how it had changed Ian. He wanted to understand it because he couldn’t look at a clearly broken Ian Gallagher claim not to be broken again. And not do a damn thing about it.

 Mickey’s need to absorb everything in the world of bipolar brought him to the prison shrink. He did something that he didn’t think he would ever do. He asked for help. His need to understand, to be able to say and do the right things overrode any pride that was left. The all-consuming fear that he had lost Ian fortified this decision. The shrink suggested letter writing, so Mickey started writing letters. The shrink also suggested that Mickey continue to see him, for Ian’s sake, so of course Mickey agreed immediately. It was for Ian, right?

Mickey had written Ian nine letters. Once a week, he would write what he learned about himself, about Ian, about being bipolar and how he understood all of it and none of it simultaneously. He would write about his time with the shrink. Mickey wasn’t even sure if Ian was reading the letters. After nine weeks, he hadn’t heard from Ian one way or another. Until one day, he did.

 Mickey was sat in his cell, reading The Catcher in the Rye. He had checked it out of the library. That was something else he did lately, he read books just for fun. He didn’t even read books when he was required to, but now he enjoyed getting lost in a story, allowing his brain to see the picture the author painted. What else did he have if not time? He liked this one, could identify with Holden Caulfield and his story in a way. He wondered absently what Holden would have been like if he had someone like the shrink in his life.

 The shrink had given him an idea about filing an appeal, seemed to think he’d have a good shot at getting out. Gave him the name of a lawyer that could help him. Mickey had been skeptical, knew he couldn’t afford a lawyer. The shrink just gave him his knowing look, Mickey called it the ‘Shrink Look’ because the guy thought he had the answers to everything. It had irritated Mickey in the beginning, because almost every single time, the guy _was_ right.

 “Milkovich, visitor!” Mickey had assumed it was the lawyer. He had made contact and the guy was supposed to come see him to discuss his case and possible appeal. Mickey made his way over to the CO who had called his name and raised his eyebrows in silent question, not sure where he was supposed to go. The guard just motioned Mickey over to the other guys waiting to head over to the visitation area.

 One thing Mickey never got used to in lock-up was the fact that nobody ever told you anything. He sighed and got in line, once the guard deemed it necessary, he would give Mickey the information he needed. Mickey had been getting really good at putting his newfound patience to the test. As the line of inmates started moving from their pod, through a series of hallways that made up the prison infrastructure, the family visitation room came into focus.

 Mickey hadn’t been looking for a visitor, he thought he would just have been taken to a private room. But he looked around anyway as he took in his surroundings. He had never had a visit in this room before. It was wide open with several metal picnic tables throughout. Most of the other inmates had already found their respective visitor and were sat at the various tables. Mickey was surprised by the amount of emotion and affection displayed in the room. He barely recognized some of the inmates, their prison persona and guard dropped for their loved ones. He hadn’t had many visits up to this point, but those that he had been allowed were always behind the thick plexi-glass with an old school phone booth receiver stuck to his ear.

 As he tore his gaze away from his cellmate hugging what he assumed was his mom, his eyes locked on a shock of red hair. Mickey pulled a comically over dramatic double take. _Fuck_. He knew his face was pulled into an equally affected look of surprise as his eyes met the green-blue eyes of the one person he wasn’t sure he would ever get to see again.

 Ian was already sitting at the visitation table, his hands were hidden under it presumably rested in his lap. His uncertain smile and the shrug of one shoulder woke Mickey from his surprise. His legs moved of their own volition, pulled like a magnet before his brain had a chance to catch up. When he was stood at the opposite side of the table, he took Ian in. He looked healthy, that had been his first thought, but he wasn’t sure he should say that so he just gave his default half-smirk to the redhead.

 Ian’s smiled started at one side of his mouth, small and shy, but it couldn’t be contained as it took over his whole face. He looked happy. He looked perfect. Mickey’s smile wouldn’t be outdone and within seconds they were grinning like idiots at each other.

 “Hey Mick.” Ian breathed the words out through his smile. Mickey sat opposite Ian at the table. “Got your letters.”

 “Oh yeah?” Mickey used to be able to read Ian, and he thought maybe he still could. “Never gotta reply back though.”

 Ian nodded at this, his nervous smile made another reappearance. Mickey didn’t mean to make him nervous, but he wasn’t quite sure how this was going to play out and Mickey was nervous too. The man in front of him held all the power to Mickey’s happiness. Wait, that wasn’t right. The shrink had been trying to drill into Mickey’s head that Mickey held all the power to his own happiness. Maybe so, but being allowed to love Ian was equal to happiness.

 “I started to write back a bunch of times, nothing ever felt right, good enough, ya know?” Mickey didn’t know, but he nodded anyways and waited, hoped, that Ian would continue. “You really seeing a therapist in here?”

 At this, Mickey nodded again. He had been honest in his letters about his intention from the beginning, how it had turned into something he never expected. “Yeah, don’t tell anyone.” He joked, because it was the only way he knew how to cover up how uncomfortable he was. Ian actually let out a laugh at that and nodded. Mickey was pleased he could still make Ian laugh.

 “I won’t if you won’t.” Ian’s eyes twinkled and Mickey could see his Ian again, how he remembered him before everything started to go to shit.

 “You’re going?” From the outside, it was a simple question, but both men knew the significance of Ian’s answer.

 “Yeah, I uh…some things happened, nothing too bad…then I got your first letter. I don’t know, man…something just clicked. Didn’t go right away, then I got your second letter.” Mickey waited for Ian to continue but when the silence lingered, he raised his eyebrows in question and nodded for Ian to keep talking.

 “I went to the clinic and told them I didn’t feel right, told them what I did to my hand. They uh…they set me up with a therapist and switched up my meds. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I did before…but uh, Josh, that’s my therapist, he helped me see some things, pointed out some things that seem pretty fucking obvious looking back now.”

 Mickey wasn’t sure what to make of that but he needed Ian to know. “You look healthy man, happy.” He wanted to say so much more, but he was worried he would overwhelm the redhead. He was also scared, didn’t want to give over any more of the power Ian already held.

 Ian nodded at this. “You do too, Mick. Real good.”

 “Ain’t much else to do, been liftin’.” Mickey shrugged, was trying to go for nonchalance. He was secretly thrilled that Ian noticed. “So…” Mickey wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Ian. While he was preoccupied with not overwhelming the redhead, his own anxiety had snuck up on him. All the things that Mickey wanted to say to Ian were stuck in his throat. Ian had come to him, so he would let Ian lead this conversation. He could see the hesitation written across Ian’s face and watched as Ian looked into his lap as he started to speak.

 “Listen Mick…I just…I need you to know, I was…fuck, this is harder than I thought it’d be. I was a fuckin’ idiot, man. I can see that now, before…man I was so outta my head. I’m not sure how we uh… ya know, move forward from everything. But Mick, you gotta know…I fucking love you. I love you so _fucking_ much.” At this declaration, Ian looked up to meet Mickey’s eyes. Mickey was relieved to see hope shining through the tears that were welling. He hoped that his eyes reflected the same, fuck the power, Ian could have it if it meant he could feel this good again. Ian wanted to move forward and Mickey had to agree that he wasn’t sure how they could do that either, but they had time to figure out the details. Right now, there was really only one thing left to say.

 “I love you too, man.” The tears in Ian’s eyes were finally released and slid down his face, glistening his cheeks. Mickey reached up on instinct to wipe them away with his thumbs and Ian gave him a watery smile. Mickey smiled back and Ian beamed.

 “Yeah?” Mickey paused for a second to study Ian’s face. His face was full of innocent hope. It reminded Mickey of the 14 year-old kid Ian once was, back when hopeful innocence was damn near synonymous with Ian fucking Gallagher.

 “Yeah, you idiot, course I do.”


	2. Ian gets his shit together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW I suppose: Ian refers to his manic ideas as crazy ideas. But it's mostly positive, Ian's working his shit out

Ian’s feet pounded the pavement as he nodded his head to the beat of the music pulsing in his ears.  Each footfall in rhythm with his breathing and the hammer of his heartbeat.  Running had always been soothing and energizing for him.  Since he had accepted his diagnosis and the help that was needed to manage it, running had become his saving grace.  Josh had also pointed out that getting back into the things that he used to enjoy would help with his moods.  Also, something about exercising and creating a routine, two parameters Ian always thrived within.  In the early days, he could barely make it a mile before he collapsed in sheer exhaustion.

 Ian couldn’t even believe that his life was turning out the way that it had.  Things were falling into place and he actually felt something akin to hope for the first time in years.  When he got that first letter from Mickey, he couldn’t even believe the words that he was reading.  By the time he got the second letter, he felt like a fool.  How could he not have realized that this man would do anything for him?  How could he have let that go so easily and because of what, because he had the nerve to give a shit?

 Ian made a decision after reading that second letter.  He called the clinic to make an appointment.  If there was anybody in this world that Ian thought would never entertain the idea of therapy, it was Mickey fucking Milkovich.  And if he was to believe his letters, Mickey was actively participating in something that sounded a lot like therapy.  Sure, at first, he just wanted information about bipolar disorder, but the deeper Ian got into the letters, the more it sounded like Mickey was going for himself as much as he was going for Ian.

 Ian had long ago suspected that he would always view Mickey as someone who was much braver than he could ever hope to be.  It was only until just recently that he was able to admit that to himself.  But this was a situation that he could prove to himself, and to Mickey, that he could be brave too.  He wanted to be brave because Mickey deserved so much in this life and he honestly believed that he was never going to get any of it.  Ian thought it wouldn’t be a bad life, to spend every damn day trying to convince Mickey that he deserved the world.

 So Ian went to that first appointment and he was honest about how he was feeling.  He admitted to the doctor what he had done to his hand.  He admitted that he wanted to feel something.  He admitted that he was out of his depth in a lot of ways, but he knew that as long as he felt nothing at all, he would never stay on the medication. 

 “So, we switch up your meds and we find something that works better for your body chemistry.”  She had said it so simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.  Like this wasn’t the reason for countless existential and potential suicidal crises that had been running through his head on a constant loop since his diagnosis.

 “That’s it?  Just like that?”  He refused to believe that it was that simple.

 “Look Ian, I am not going to lie to you and tell you that it will be easy.  As I said before, it is not an exact science and we probably won’t get it right every time.  But that doesn’t mean it has to be so complicated.  There are millions of people who function and have fulfilling lives on these types of medications.  After admitting to yourself that you are, indeed, bipolar, the second hardest part of this disorder is finding the right combination of medications without losing hope.  I would really recommend you let me set you up with one of our therapists to help you transition through this.”

 And just like that, Ian was given new medication, a therapist, and renewed hope that he could actually do something with his life, be somebody that he could be proud of.  Ian had never believed in any kind of higher power, growing up the way he did, the way his family was forced to survive, there was no room for that kind of hope.  But after that conversation with the doctor and the progress he had made in the subsequent weeks, his mind had been cleared enough to accept a sign from the universe for what it was.

 It didn’t hurt that it was a bright ass fluorescent light of a sign that was clearly trying to get his attention with everything it had.  After the fight with Lip, he just wanted to clear his head.  He didn’t like the thoughts that were swirling about at the time, but now he could kiss Lip for his role in placing him on that bridge at that exact moment in time.  The whole experience sort of felt out of body and surreal.  He had set a session with Josh afterwards just to discuss the whole thing.  He still couldn’t always trust his thoughts.  Josh had praised him for coming to this conclusion, like it was the biggest fucking deal in the world.

 And Josh kind of had a point, when you go from stealing babies and almost killing your sister, you tend to be a bit gun shy in the department of filtering out ideas.  Josh had emphasized that _that_ was the whole point.  That he understood this about himself.  He also made him create a list of people that he could bounce ideas off if he ever felt like this again.  It had reminded Ian of the suicide list, but Josh reassured him that it was nothing like that.

 An added bonus to running was that it was the only time he allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts like this.  It was a time for reflection and in a weird way, it brought him peace.  Josh had said it was his form of meditation.  Ian thought that landed to close on the side of hippy bullshit, but he couldn’t argue with the results. 

 Ian brought his focus back to reality as he slowed his steps to a walk the last quarter mile back to the Gallagher house.  He put his wrist in front of his face to check the time on his watch.  Today was the day that he was going to visit Mickey.

 He had agonized over that decision, it had come shortly after his revelation on the bridge and he was worried that he was once again sliding back into mania.  Josh had asked him to use his list first, but he still hadn’t made the damn thing.  And he couldn’t imagine any of his siblings understanding how he felt about Mickey.  Josh had begrudgingly made an appointment and allowed him to discuss it with him.  He sat and listened patiently while Ian went through his thoughts and feelings.  He had allowed Ian to come to a conclusion on his own.  That he hadn’t made a snap decision.  Reminded him that he had been thinking about this moment for weeks.  That he loved Mickey and that he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.  Josh also forced him to finally make that damn list.

 When he approached the Gallagher house, he saw Fiona sat on the front steps smoking a cigarette and sighed.  Fiona had been designated number one on his list and he might as well let _her_ know that.  They didn’t always see eye to eye but now that his head felt clear he could appreciate her concern.  She had raised him when she had only been a kid herself.  She wasn’t a perfect parent because she wasn’t a parent at all, never should have been, especially at such a young age. 

 “Hey sweet face, good run?”  She smiled up at him, squinting into the sun.  She put her arm around his shoulders for a side hug when he sat next to her on the top step and snuggled in close to his side.  Ian burrowed right back into her and allowed the warmth of her embrace to engulf him for second.  He was grateful that she allowed it without complaint.

 “Yeah, feels really good to get back in shape.  Startin to feel like myself again, ya know?”  He scooted back away from her so he could turn sideways and look her in the eye.  “Hey Fi, you got time to talk about something?  It’s kinda important…kinda like a homework assignment or some shit, from Josh.” 

 She searched his eyes at this admission, her smile faltered a bit, but she nodded her head anyway.  “Yeah, course.  Everything ok?”

 “Yeah, no…it’s nothing bad, not really anyway.”  He took a deep breath and tried to give her a reassuring smile.  “He wanted me to make a list of people….uh, like people who I could talk to…to bounce ideas off.”  He was frustrated with himself when he saw her confused expression.  He was not explaining this very well at all.

 “Ok, so…sometimes, I have a hard time trusting my thoughts.  Like when I had all those crazy ideas when I was manic…sometimes, I still get those thoughts… but it’s easier to recognize which ones are crazy now.  But sometimes, I have a hard time with it.  Like…when I saw the crash and pulled that lady out of that car?  Afterwards, I had this…moment or whatever.  Next thing I know, I’m having all these thoughts and making all these plans about becoming an EMT.  At first, I was worried it was the mania coming back.  But then, I had a session with Josh and we talked it through and he helped me realize it wasn’t the mania.  That it wasn’t such a crazy idea.  Maybe even a good one.”  She had been nodding encouragingly as he spoke like she was starting to understand where he was going with this.

 “So you are telling me because you want me to be that person instead of Josh?”

 “Yeah…well, I’ll still have him for now.  But he’s real big about creating a support network.”  He deepened his voice, stuck his index finger out and pointed it in her face as he mimicked his therapist.  “One of the most universal goals of therapy is to not be in therapy forever!”

 She laughed at him and batted his hand down.  “So, how will I know if it’s the mania or not?  Are you sure I’m qualified to do that?  Should I talk to Josh too?”

 “No…I mean, we can have a session together if it makes you feel better.  But really…you just have to listen to me talk and most of the time I get there on my own.  It’s like having a backup.  Someone who isn’t bipolar confirming that it’s not the bipolar talking.  It sounds way more complicated than it actually is.”

 “Ok…I think I can do that.  I know you don’t want to hear this, but I am _really_ proud of you.”  She smiled at him.  Ian was startled to realize that he wasn’t irritated at her for that sentiment.  He looked at her and it felt like he was really seeing her for the first time.  When before, all he had seen was prying eyes and now all he could see was love and acceptance.  

 “’s actually really nice to hear that, but you might wanna take it back after you hear what I’m doin’ today.”  She frowned at that and gave him a questioning look.  So he told her all about Mickey’s letters.  About how Mickey was changing and growing and how he wanted to grow with him.  About how he was in love with him and had never been more certain of anything in his entire life.  About how he was going to visit him today and tell him all of that. 

 In the end, she didn’t take it back.  She had come to respect Mickey’s place in his life.  She had a seen how Mickey had been there for Ian when he was diagnosed.  She had understood that kind of love.  And she had wanted nothing more than for her little brother to be happy.


	3. Mickey sees a shrink part deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Events of 3x6 discussed

Out of habit, Mickey continued to write letters to Ian.  Ian started writing back after that first visit. The weekly visits were only an hour long and they could get a lot more down in a letter than in an hour-long conversation.  It was also a hell of a lot easier to spill his guts on paper.  He wrote things he would never feel comfortable saying out loud and he suspected Ian was doing the same. 

 Mickey could never be confused for a sentimental man, would never be accused of being a romantic.  But there was something so intimate about letter writing with Ian.  It filled his soul.  He had complained to the shrink about it, after he recognized what was happening.  He felt like a fraud.  The shrink, of course, gave him the look and told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to stop getting in the way of his own happiness.   And that was pretty much the end of that conversation. 

 Mickey had moved on from studying all things bipolar, once he got the basic handle on the disorder.  He understood now, something he had always presumed, that an un-medicated Ian would do and say things that he didn’t necessarily mean.  Mickey and the shrink had worked hard so that Mickey could work past the anger and not hold those things against Ian.  And to understand that the disorder hadn’t changed who Ian was, it had just changed how his brain processed things.  The shrink had given him that word, process, and other phrases like ‘chemical imbalance.’  He was starting to understand now what Ian had meant about not being broken.  And he didn’t want to fix him anymore, not in the way that he used to.  Not in the way that unsettled Ian so profoundly that he felt like his only choice was to leave. 

 So Mickey had moved on to researching case law for his appeal.  His lawyer was working his case for free, some kind of favor to the shrink.  Mickey was slowly beginning to realize that asking for help wasn’t all that bad.  His innate lack of trust with the entire world was still firmly in place, it was a part of who he was, his identity.  Something that ingrained into the fibers of his being wouldn’t simply fade away after a few visits with a shrink. No matter how much he liked the shrink.  No matter if he was starting to actually trust the shrink.  He always made sure that little voice in his head was loud and clear.  Too much of who Mickey was wouldn’t allow that voice to fade into the abyss.  Growing up south side created a survival instinct that could rival a wild animal.  But he had learned that he doesn’t always have to listen to it.  The comfort and knowledge that it existed was enough to sustain him.

 The shrink had said it was trauma that caused him to think this way.  He threw that word around a lot.  Trauma.  Said some things that kind of made sense to Mickey.  That when you grew up the way Mickey did, fearing the only people that were supposed to make you feel safe, it caused trust issues.  That’s what the shrink said anyway.  Mickey wasn’t completely sold on the idea, he just had a lot of experience with people fucking him over.  To Mickey, trust issues and common sense went hand in hand. 

 Mickey looked back to the computer screen to read some more of a case that was similar to his.  He looked back down to the notes he had taken and read them over.  He sighed deeply and moved his left hand up to his face, massaging his eyebrows with his thumb and his index finger.  He had lost his train of thought.  The lawyer had asked Mickey to help with his own appeal, said he didn’t have the man-hours to do it all himself.  The shrink had promised that the lawyer was good, but he was still doing it for free.  The lawyer had taught him how to research what he needed, how to pick the parts of an argument that would help his case.  Mickey was starting to feel like the shrink and the lawyer were a two-man wrecking crew that crashed into his self-imposed life of solitude.  It was like Mickey was a puzzle that a toddler had put together.  From far away, it looked right, complete.  But if you looked closely, you could see that the pieces were jammed haphazardly together, completely mismatched.  The shrink and the lawyer were slowly taking those pieces and putting them back together so that they fit seamlessly.

 Mickey looked up to the clock on the wall.  He had a session with the shrink today and if he wasn’t in his pod, sometimes they just wouldn’t look for him.  The first time it had happened, he was convinced the shrink was going to stop seeing him.  Part of Mickey thought that he would be okay with that.  But a bigger part of him felt an overwhelming panic at the thought of it.  The shrink was a stickler for boundaries as he called them.  Mickey wasn’t supposed to miss appointments, something about being committed to the process.  Jesus if he wasn’t the fucking poster boy for therapy these days.

 

\--------

 There was one thing that Mickey never talked to the shrink about.  His brain had worked hard over the last couple of years to find a place to lock that memory down.  He couldn’t or wouldn’t access it unless something triggered a flashback.  His reaction was always so visceral that he couldn’t have hidden it if he wanted to.  Even if he knew it was coming.  So it was pretty fucking unfortunate that the shrink unknowingly caused a flash of memory in a session that day.  Mickey had flinched and before he could flatten his face back to bored indifference, the shrink saw it.  The shrink knew that Mickey knew the shrink saw it and gave him a small smile of understanding.  When Mickey made no move to further the conversation, he gave him the look.

 Mickey sat still and tried to wait him out, but damn if that shrink wasn’t too fucking good at his job.  He had the patience that Mickey strived for.  Mickey had long ago figured out that was part of the gig, throw a bomb out there or stumble blindly across a landmine, and then just sit in silence.  He would let Mickey stew in his thoughts until he caved.  And fuck if Mickey didn’t cave every damn time.  But Mickey wouldn’t break on this.  No fucking way.  He wouldn’t talk about that day. And he definitely wouldn’t talk about that feeling of peace that had washed over him the night before.  Or how that same feeling had haunted his fucking dreams for months. Nope. Not today.  Fucking Nope.  He darted his eyes around the room, looked everywhere but at the shrink.

 Mickey felt his chest tighten at the same time that the room blurred.  He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, the whooshing sound flooded his senses and he couldn’t hear anything else.  He felt his chest constrict again and could vaguely feel his breathing pick up speed.  He dug the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes and wiped roughly until the room came back into focus. He finally looked up to the shrink with panic and desperation in his eyes.  Once he could focus on the shrink, he could see that his face had softened.  Mickey noticed that he was now wearing his second, if very rarely used, but just as effective, shrink look.  Fuck.  This guy was good.

 “Mickey, you know you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”  Really fucking good.  Mickey already knew he didn’t have to talk.  The shrink had told him an obscene number of times over the last few months that he didn’t have to talk about anything he didn’t want to.  The first few times the shrink had explained this concept, he had also added that it wouldn’t change anything though.  And that he was pretty fucking sure that Mickey wanted to change some things in his life, otherwise he wouldn’t be there.  Initially, Mickey had blamed the shock of the man using the cuss word for how easily he had folded that first time.  But he had no reasonable explanation for why it worked every time since then either.  Or why it was working now for that matter.

 “Uh. I don’t.  I’m not really.  It was.”  Mickey was flailing, couldn’t focus his thoughts to form coherent words into something resembling a sentence.  He shook his head like a wet dog just out of a bath, exaggerated, tried to clear it all.  “This is…hard.”  He finally came out with and if he wasn’t so focused on self-preservation, he would be embarrassed at the rasp in his voice.  The shrink just nodded and used his silence and his fucking patience.  Mickey knew the shrink could wait him out, the undefeated fucking champion.

 “My dad, Terry.  He’s…well, he uh…he walked in on me and Ian one time.”  Mickey stopped and bit his bottom lip, tried to formulate how he wanted to continue this story.  Tried to use the breathing trick to control his nerves like the shrink had taught him. Mickey had looked down when he started talking, wasn’t sure he could get this out while looking at another person.  Wasn’t sure he could ever get this out while looking into eyes that showed anything akin to pity.  But he looked up now and the shrink nodded at him, his face tight, like he knew where Mickey was going with this.  Mickey couldn’t quite read the expression that seemed painted on the shrink’s face, but he noticed with a lightness in his chest, that it lacked pity, completely.  That made it easier, like maybe it wasn’t this big fucking secret anymore.  Like maybe, just saying it out loud, wouldn’t immediately summon Terry to appear in this fucking room like the fucking demon that he was.

 “He wasn’t too happy.  You know, he didn’t want a gay son, homophobic asshole.  I grew up hating myself because that asshole believed that being gay was some kinda biblical level defect.  And I’m pretty sure he only had kids so that he could pass down his fucked up beliefs on us, create his own little army of demented soldiers.  So, when he walked in on me taking it up the ass…pissed doesn’t begin to fucking cover it.  Beat the shit out of both of us, pistol whipped me in the head once…maybe more than once.  Don’t remember it all…think, maybe I blacked out.  Held us both at gunpoint.”  It had started out as a pretty impressive rant against Terry but Mickey soon lost steam and had resorted to clipped explanations once he got into the meat of the story.  He wasn’t sure he would actually be able to say the next part.  He hadn’t taken his eyes off the shrink the whole time he had been talking.  And the shrink had nodded encouragingly every time Mickey took a pause.

 “Called a hooker over, Svet, told her to fuck the fag outta me, so she did.  You know the rest, ended up pregnant, married her, Yev came along.  Fucked shit up with Ian for a while.”  Still clipped, more monotone now.  Mickey looked down at his hands and startled when he realized they were trembling.  The shrink waited a beat but seemed to sense that Mickey was finally done.

 “You know that none of that is your fault, right Mickey?” The shrink asked carefully.

 “I know that…but it _was_ my fucking dad in _my_ fucking house.  My house…that I invited Ian in to.  I invited Ian into… _that_.”  The rasp was back in his voice, Mickey couldn’t even pretend to care anymore.  He did know that, knew that his dad’s psychotic beliefs and how he enforced them wasn’t his fault.  He knew it wasn’t his fault that his dad beat the shit out of _him_. But Ian?  That _was_ on him.  That would _always_ be on him. 

 “Doesn’t matter, wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid and it wasn’t your responsibility to protect Ian.”  How the fuck? But yes, it was his responsibility.  He brought Ian into that house.  That was his decision.  That was on him.  But fuck if he knew how to tell the shrink about that kind of guilt. 

 “I know that, I wasn’t holding the gun.”  Rasp gone, replaced with dogged determination.  Mickey rapidly settling into his default setting of cold indifference, where he was most comfortable. 

 “Mickey, look at me.”  Mickey obediently looked up at the tone in the shrink’s voice, an assertiveness he had never heard from the man before.  He met the shrink’s eye, felt like he was in a trance as if the shrink had hypnotized him. “None of that was your fault.”  Mickey just nodded dumbly and looked back down to his traitorous, trembling hands.  He knew that from the outside, it could appear that none of that was his fault, but Mickey knew better.

 “Nope, don’t go there.  It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.”  Mickey’s eyes flashed up in anger to protest again, but the shrink was looking at him with the confidence of a man that had never been wrong.  It cut the fight out of his heart like he had been stabbed with the knowledge the shrink was trying to drive into him.  He looked back down, eyes unfocused and glazed over with tears that still hadn’t fallen. “You were a kid.  It may not have felt like it because you hadn’t been treated like a child when you needed it the most.  We talked about this and we were in agreement on this.  The things that happened to you, that were done to you as a child.  That wasn’t on you.  This is no different.  You know that.” Fuck, he did know that. He remembered now.

 “I know.”  Mickey said it with finality.  He did know.  He felt it.  The shrink knew this too because when Mickey chanced a look up, the guy was smiling.  Cocky little shit.  But Mickey didn’t care because that feeling he felt that night with Ian, that feeling of peace, it had come back.  And it had washed over him again.  He sure as shit wasn’t going to admit that to the shrink though, so he settled for a quirked eyebrow and a half shrug.

 “Feel better?” 

 “Fuck off.”


	4. Thank you for loving me

Ian walked leisurely across the Malcolm X campus and pushed his earbuds into his ears.  He absently untangled the cord and plugged it into his phone to provide a soundtrack for his journey home.  He only had a couple more weeks left of classes before he was finished and would be eligible to sit for the EMT licensure exam. Ian had the sudden urge to skip, actually fucking skip, with giddiness.  He suppressed that urge and promised himself a private celebration when he was in the safety of his bedroom.  He reached the bust stop and sat on the bench to wait for the bus to arrive while he let the sounds of The Who wash over him. 

 He watched as the bus pulled up to the stop a few minutes later and waited for its passengers to get off.  When it was clear that nobody was getting off the bus, he groaned his way up the couple of stairs and found an empty seat near the rear door.  Ian settled in for his ride home.  He leaned his head against the window and tried to relax the stress from his day out of his body.

 When he walked up to the Gallagher house, Svetlana was sat on the front porch, Yevgeny happily perched on her lap.  They both looked up at the sound of the gate when he opened it and Yevgeny smiled wide and pointed at Ian.  The toddler then started to clap his hands excitedly.

 “Een!”  Ian smiled at that, he had been trying to teach Yev his name, but the kid couldn’t get the second syllable worked out right.

 “Hey buddy! Hey Svet.”  He smiled at her but didn’t question why she was there.  Once he started to stabilize, he had reached out to try to rebuild some trust with her so that he could remain in Yevgeny’s life. He reached down to pluck the boy out of her lap when he had stretched his own chubby arms up towards Ian and made grabby hands at him.

"I think maybe we go to dinner, yes?”  He smiled at that as he situated his arm under Yev to supply a seat for his diaper clad butt.  Once Yev was secure, he wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck for a quick hug and snuggled into Ian’s chest.  Ian wrapped his other arm around the boys back and idly rubbed his hand up and down his spine.

 “Really? I would love that.  You want to go to dinner, Yevy?”  Yevgeny pulled back at that to look at Ian’s face.  The boy nodded his head in an over dramatic motion and gave Ian a drool filled smile.

 “Yeah!” Ian looked over at Svetlana as she stood up and smiled at her again before turning his attention back to the toddler in his arms.

 “Where should we go, huh?” Svetlana huffed at giving the choice to Yevgeny but didn’t say anything as she followed Ian out of the gate and down the sidewalk.

 “Nuggets!”

 “Oh, you want chicken nuggets?  Wonder if mommy wants chicken nuggets?”  He looked over at her as he said this, eyebrows raised in question.

 “Is fine, special dinner for baby.  He ask for you three times today.”  She smiled at him when she said it, her usual cold demeanor warmed a few degrees.  “He get attached to orange boy, you not fuck up this time, no?” The hardness was back in her voice but it didn’t bother Ian like it used to.  He smiled back at her with a slight nod.  He didn’t miss the corners of her mouth threaten to turn upward or the sparkle in her eye but for her sake, he pretended like he had.  Their silent conversation gone unnoticed by the child in Ian’s arms.  Yeah, they were going to be okay too.

 “I guess it’s your lucky day buddy, McDonald’s it is!”  The trio made their way on foot to the neighborhood fast food restaurant while Yevgeny chattered away about his day during the short walk.  Ian wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve a second chance with Svetlana, how he had convinced her to start trusting him again.  But he did know that he wasn’t going to screw it up this time.

 This was also a topic that he hadn’t talked to Mickey about yet.  If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he was scared shitless about how Mickey would react to his renewed relationship with Svetlana and Yev.  So far, they had steered clear of that part of Mickey’s life to focus on themselves and their relationship.  Then they talked about Mickey’s possible appeal, they talked about Mandy, they talked about Ian taking and passing his GED, getting into school to become an EMT.  They even talked about the Gallagher’s and all the inherent drama that came with the family.  But neither of them had brought up the elephant in the room, in letter or in person and it was starting to make Ian anxious.

 But Mickey’s last letter had a bit from his last session with his therapist, about how he had talked about the night Yev was conceived.  How he wanted to talk about it with Ian at his next visit.  He even talked about how the shrink thought it might be a good idea for the two of them to have a session together.  Ian had to reread that whole section at least three times before he could fully comprehend what Mickey was trying to say.  Ian made a promise to himself that he would tell Mickey about Svet and Yev during his next visit.

\---------

Ian let out a frustrated sigh as the metal detector went off for the second time.  He swore they just randomly set the thing off because after the last visit when he had to endure a pat down search, he made sure he had no metal on him.  He even wore sweatpants to the prison and the damn thing still went off.  The guard motioned for him to go through one more time, so Ian walked around the thing and went through it again.  The damned thing was blissfully silent after his third walk through but the guard still eyed Ian like he was going to pat him down anyway.  Finally, the guard just sighed and motioned him through to the visitation room like he couldn’t be bothered to do his job.

 Ian walked into the room, eyed an empty table and sat down to wait for Mickey.  He watched as other visitors filled in around him and sat at their own tables.  He nodded to a woman who was smiling at him from a couple tables away.  He recognized her as Mickey’s cellmate’s mother, the two had become as friendly as two people who were visiting inmates in a state prison could.  His attention was brought to the door on the other side of the room as it was opened to let the inmates file in.  He grinned at Mickey once he made eye contact with him. 

 “Hey Mick.”  Ian greeted, once the older man made it to the table.  He watched as he sat across from Ian and put his hands on the table, arms extended as they reached towards Ian in silent greeting.  Ian eagerly put his hands on the table so that their fingertips touched.

 “Ay, you good?” Ian nodded at this and stretched his fingers out enough to tangle them with Mickey’s. 

 “Yeah, been real good Mick. How’re you though?” Mickey finally gave him a small smile and squeezed Ian’s fingers.  They weren’t allowed to show much affection, they had learned through each visit exactly where the lines were drawn.  But handholding had never gotten them yelled at, so it became their preferred form of affection towards each other.

 “I’m good, met with the lawyer yesterday actually.  Wants me to pick an appeal strategy, told him that’s why I ‘as payin’ him the big bucks.”  Mickey smiled and laughed at his own stupid joke.  Ian knew this meant he wanted Ian’s opinion but wouldn’t ask.

 “Oh ya? Appeal strategy huh?  You gonna have a law degree by the time you get outta here?” Ian joked, knowing the teasing would ease Mickey’s anxiety.

 “Fuck off, man.” Mickey whined and the words behind the sentiment were lost in his tone. Ian allowed himself to laugh and squeezed his fingers around Mickey’s a little tighter.

 “So what are the choices, then?” Ian asked, more serious now.

 “Well, he can either say my original lawyer fucked up or that the state had no evidence.”

 “Isn’t that kinda the same thing though?” Ian asked, genuinely confused.

 "Nah man, inadequate representation is a separate thing, like it was my lawyers fault.  If we go that way, we say he didn’t present evidence that coulda acquitted me, like witness testimony…or lab tests showin’ that bitch already had shit in her system, that she was a pill head ya know…so how can they be sure what she took. Or! Or how can it prove that I gave her anything at all really.  I mean, they ain’t even do a damn toxicology report on her, couldn’t, cause shit was out her system by the time she got back.  And bitch was crazy too, so he coulda had evidence to show that her word couldn’t be trusted.  Shit like that.” 

 “Ok, I got you.  And the other one?”  Ian was smiling, he was really fucking proud of Mickey but he didn’t want to be too exuberant.  He knew how to walk that line, just enough enthusiasm to keep Mickey going but not enough to shut Mickey down.

 “Well, that one is more tricky.  We gotta prove the state went to trial knowing it didn’t have the evidence.  That one’s harder to prove, there ain’t a lotta cases to get examples from.”

 “Kinda sounds like you already made the decision, Mick.”  Ian was beaming now, he couldn’t help it.  He was really fucking proud of this man.

 “Yeah, guess so huh?  Guess I just needed to talk it out.” Mickey grinned back at Ian, exuberance granted and accepted. “How’s school goin?”

 “It’s good, only coupla weeks left…” Ian trailed off as Mickey’s eyes suddenly darted to the side.  He played it off like he was looking at the table where his cell mate was sitting, but Ian knew his tell.  The air turned thick between the two and Ian wasn’t sure where the tension came from. He tried to make eye contact with Mickey, tried to smile gently.  He wanted to convey comfort to Mickey but he had already averted his gaze to the hands that still connected them.  Ian squeezed his fingers around Mickey’s and said softly, “Hey…”

 Mickey suddenly looked up and curled his bottom lip inward with his teeth.  Ian wasn’t sure if Mickey was jolted by his voice or the added pressure to his fingers.  He met Mickey’s eyes and saw abject fear there.  Ian tried like hell to keep that gentle smile, provide that comfort that Mickey clearly needed but wouldn’t voice.  Ian wasn’t sure how but he was suddenly hyper aware of what Mickey was thinking about, what he wanted to talk about.

 “Mick, you don’t need to talk about it today…it’s ok…” He tried to placate, but he knew it wasn’t what Mickey wanted when he saw the flash of indignation pass across his face.

 “No, I need to do this…there are things I need to say, that you need to hear…just…” Mickey growled in what Ian recognized as frustrated anger at his inability to form words.  He resisted the urge to fill in the gaps for him, knew it would only further Mickey’s irritation.  “For a long time, I blamed myself for what happened to you-“

 “What happened to me?!” Ian sighed, he hadn’t meant to interrupt, but come on.  How could Mickey think any of that was his fault?

 “Ian, please…just listen…I did blame myself, I brought you into that house.  I put you in that situation ok?  And I need…I need to say I’m sorry for that.  I know now, that it ain’t my fault, I do!” Mickey’s voice raised when he saw the look on Ian’s face.  Ian thought he had perfected a neutral expression but apparently, he also had a tell.  “But that don’t mean I ain’t need to apologize for how you got there, you never woulda been there if you weren’t with me, ok?  So, I need you to hear me when I say…I’m sorry you were there, ok? I’m sorry you had to see that.”

By the time he was done speaking, both boys were breathing heavy.  Ian opened his mouth to speak but he felt the words stick to the back of his throat.  He was hit with such an odd surge of emotion that it left his mouth hanging wide open.  He rarely thought about that day, but he wasn’t sure he had ever thought about that day in the framework of his own safety.  He had always thought about how it must have been for Mickey.  With Mickey’s admission, he realized that Mickey had thought the exact same way.  Ian was slammed once again by the overwhelming thought of just how much Mickey loved him. He briefly wondered how he was ever supposed to thank him for that.  How can you properly thank someone who loved you so fiercely that they were willing to do anything, even at great personal harm, to protect you.

 “Thank you.” Ian said lamely and then shook his head because that didn’t even begin to cover what he had meant to say.  Mickey’s eyes softened at those two words, however, and Ian smiled.  Of course Mickey knew what he meant with those two words, but he felt the need elaborate anyway.  Mickey deserved to hear it out loud.  “Thank you, for loving me...and I’m sorry…that I couldn’t always see that.”


	5. Here comes the son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, real life and all that.

Mickey sat at the table in the common area with playing cards in his hands, unfocused eyes staring and unseeing what he had been dealt.  He heard an annoyed huff from across the table and grumbled in response.  He knew he was not paying attention and he knew his cell mate wasn’t going to tolerate his lack of concentration for much longer.

 “Ay man, ‘sup with you?” Damon asked, not unkindly.  Mickey had a lot of expectations when he was sent to an adult prison for the first time in his life, but hitting the jackpot of cellmates had not been one of them.  Damon had a rough exterior, much like Mickey, but once the two had begrudgingly let some defenses fade, let some trust slip through, they had both come to see the other as a brother in a way.

 “Sorry, just thinkin…” Mickey trailed off because while they had become close, Damon didn’t know much about his complicated relationship with his sexuality.  Even though he had come out, in a spectacularly foolish way, it’s not as though he announces it to every fucking person he comes across.  And he knew Damon had seen Ian visiting him, seen them holding hands and hadn’t said a damn word about it.  So he knew, or at least he suspected, that Damon was at least somewhat cool with the concept of Mickey being gay.  But that didn’t mean he wanted to have heart to fucking heart conversations about it. 

 “This got to do with that tall ass red head that been comin to see you lately?”  He looked over at Damon for the first time since the man had called him out.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see in the other man’s face, but he wasn’t expecting the soft eyes and encouraging half smile that was Damon’s way of letting people know he was comfortable.  That Mickey was free to talk about anything he wanted to talk about, even the gay shit.

 “Uh ya, man.  We have a…uh complicated history, to say the fucking least.”  Mickey paused and continued to look at Damon, unsure how to say what he needed to say.  How to get to the part of the conversation where he could just fucking ask for some damn advice.  Why the fuck did everything have to be so damn hard.

 “He your boyfriend or some shit?” Mickey was startled out of his inner rant at Damon’s question.  Was Ian his boyfriend?  They had never used that title before, it had always seemed so inconsequential to what they really were to each other.

 “Yeah, I guess man…I dunno, we never labeled it, shit has been so fucked up, for so long…but yeah, I guess so.”  Mickey still wasn’t sure how to continue this conversation, even with Damon giving him a life jacket to pull himself into it.  “Alright man, listen….shit is a long ass story, so I’ma give you the cliff notes version.”

 “The fuck you know bout cliff notes, man?” Damon laughed at Mickey, which finally eased the anxiety out of Mickey’s chest from the thought of this conversation.  He flipped up his middle finger at Damon in response.

 “Fuck off man…we got together years ago, I was so far in the closet, I couldn’t see the fucking door out man.  But that red headed asshole is fucking persistent and got under my fucking skin man, ya know?”  Damon may be not be gay but Mickey has had to suffer through his incessant fucking whining about his girl for months.  Damon nodded knowingly at this, relationships were relationships, no matter the sex of the partners.

 “Yeah and I was as fucking stubborn as he was persistent, lotta fucking shit went down. You know I been seeing that damn shrink, working through some of that shit.  Last time Ian was here, just brought some of it up and I dunno, man…just got me fucked up.  Feel like…well, feel like a little bitch cause all I want to do is fucking talk to him, man.”  Mickey let it all out in a rush and then chanced a look at Damon after he had started to dart his eyes around, unable to keep eye contact.  Damon was looking at him like he was a fucking idiot. “The fuck man?” Mickey asked defensively.

 “The fuck…what the fuck you, man.  You want to talk to him, fucking call him.”  Like it was so fucking simple.  Ian and Mickey hadn’t spoken on the phone once since Mickey had been locked up.  They hadn’t spoken on the phone much before his incarceration either.  It had never even occurred to Mickey to call Ian.  But Damon was right, why the fuck not?

 “Yeah…ok, yeah, I guess I could call him.”  With that Mickey nodded at Damon and got up from the table to walk out of the common room before he lost his nerve.  He followed the hallway down to where the bank of phones were situated.  He said a silent thank you to the prison gods when he turned the corner and saw that there was only one phone in use and he would have relative privacy.  He walked up to the phone that was the farthest away from the one in use and picked up the receiver.  He had to think way harder than he’d like to admit remembering Ian’s phone number and briefly wondered if it was the same.  But the call was connected and soon he was prompted to state his name so that the caller could accept or decline the charges based on that information alone.

 “Mickey?”  He finally heard Ian’s voice crackle through the shitty connection.

 “Yeah, man, it’s me.”

 “Is everything ok, are you ok?” Ian’s voice was alarmed and slowly creeping towards panic.

 “Yeah, I’m fine Ian, everything’s fine.”  Mickey heard Ian release a sigh of relief.  “Sorry…if I scared you. I just wanted…fuck, I don’t know what I wanted.  Just needed to hear your voice I guess.”  Mickey really had to talk to the shrink about his fucking lack of ability to just spit out what he needed to fucking say.  This shit was getting old.  Ian still hadn’t said anything and now that there was silence on the line, Mickey could hear the background noise coming through. 

 “Een! Een! Let’s go down slide now!”  Mickey heard clear as fucking day.  That kid sounded too young to be Liam, but it’s not like Mickey was a great judge of kids ages.  Plus, he was pretty fucking sure Liam knew how to say Ian’s name right.  But who the fuck else would it be, what kid does Ian know that he hangs out with at parks? 

 “Eeeen!”  The voice whined again, which was followed by a grunt from Ian and some jostling, like Ian was readjusting something heavy. And suddenly Ian’s voice was soft as it came through the line and Mickey was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating.

 “Ugh, you are getting heavy kid! Yevy, just give me a minute.  This is a really important phone call, ok?  Go play with the twins for now and when I’m done, I promise, we’ll do the slide together, k?”

 “Promise?” Yevgeny asked hopefully. 

 “Yes, I promise Yev, now go!”  Mickey heard giggles then and strained his ears to listen as they faded away.  He tried to imagine Ian setting the kid down, tickling him for a second to set that giggle free and Yevgeny running away to go play on a playground somewhere.  Mickey’s heart clenched and he was finally aware that it hadn’t actually stopped beating, quite the opposite.

 “Was that…”  Mickey whispered and let the question drift, he wasn’t even sure which question he was trying to ask.  There were so many fucking questions now.  Luckily for Mickey, Ian tended to ramble when he was nervous and everything just seemed to spill out of him.

 “Yeah, that was Yevgeny.  I wanted to tell you at the last visit, that I’m trying to set things right with him and Svet, but it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.  At first, I didn’t want to tell you unless it was for sure, you know?  I needed to build some trust back with Svet, I didn’t want you to get your hopes up I guess.  But then, I got scared, worried that you would be upset.  That maybe you didn’t want me to have a relationship with him.  I know it’s hard for you, to love him, but Mick…I love that kid so damn much. This may sound weird, but I feel like he’s mine too...I don’t know how to explain this without sounding…I dunno…he’s like this amazing, tiny human that is so full of hope and innocence and just…joy…he makes the fact that he came from this horrible, dirty, sickening thing…just…better.  He makes it better with his smile and his wonder and his love….”  Ian finally trailed off into silence.  Mickey was positive that Ian was uncertain as to how to continue, unsure if he had answered any of Mickey’s questions.  But Mickey couldn’t see his face, so he wasn’t certain himself where Ian’s head was at.

 “Ian…” Mickey’s voice came out thick and he had to clear his throat before he tried to speak again.  “It’s ok Ian, I’m…”  Mickey stopped to think how he really felt about this turn of events.  He realized that the thing in his head, this need to talk to Ian that he didn’t completely understand, was because they had talked about everything, had been open with each other about everything, except Yevgeny.  Mickey felt like he should be upset, that Ian hadn’t told him about his budding relationship with Yevgeny, but all he really felt was gratitude that Ian was able to love his child as if he was his own.  That Ian thought of Yevgeny as his own.

 “I’m glad you can be there for him, Ian.  I know, in the beginning, I had a hard time with him…but that changed after you…after the idea that something could happen to him… became real.  Sounds like you guys are at the park, maybe I can call you later, ok? I don’t want to interrupt your time with him.”

 “No…it’s ok, I…you have never called me, what did you want?”

 “Honestly, Ian..I wasn’t really sure.  Something just felt unfinished…when I heard his voice, it was him.  I realized we never talked about him and it just wasn’t sitting right.  I think I wanted to ask you to bring him to visit, or ask Svet to bring him, but didn’t want to make you do nothing you weren’t ready for.” 

 “I can ask Svet! Not sure if she’ll let me bring him by myself yet, but I can get her to come with me!”  Mickey smiled to himself at the excitement in Ian’s voice.  It had been a long time since Svetlana had visited him with his son.  After he told her he wasn’t going to do any more jobs for her, she got angry and never came back.

 “Ok, I’d like to see him.  I miss that little fucker, sounds like he’s talking more huh?”

 “Yeah, he’s so fucking smart, Mickey!”  Mickey smiled again, he could probably listen to Ian talk about Yevgeny like this forever.

 “Yeah…listen, Ian…go play with him.  I’m sure you only get so much time with him, I ain’t gonna take that away. When’ll you be home later, huh?  I’ll call you back later.”

 “You sure, Mick?”

 “Yeah, man, I’m sure….we’re good.” Mickey answered the unasked question.

 “Ok, I should be home around 4.”

 “Alright, I’ll try to call you back then…can’t make no promises bout the phones though man, it’s kinda first come, first serve type a deal.”

 “Oh ok…yeah, that makes sense. Alright…uh, talk to ya later then…”

 “Yeah, man, later…hey Ian?”

 “Yeah?”

 “It was really good to hear your voice and…I love you.”

 “Yeah, it was and I love you too, Mick.” Mickey could hear the smile in Ian’s voice and he decided right then and there that he would do everything in his power to make sure it stayed there.


	6. The Russian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mentions of 3x6, nothing specific. Brief mention of forced underage prostitution, again, nothing specific, just abstract mentions.

Ian felt eyes on him before he had even hung up the phone and he was slightly terrified to look over at the owner of said eyes.  He could feel the anger radiating off Svetlana in waves.  After an internal pep talk, he chanced a look at her and he realized he had read the emotion wrong.  Sure, the anger was there, but panic overpowered the anger and this confused Ian.  Svetlana very rarely showed anything that closely resembled vulnerability, but he also wasn’t sure what he could have said that would invoke this visceral response from the Russian. 

 “What?” he cocked his eyebrow at her and tried his damnedest to convey calm confidence.

 “Why you promise piece of shit husband visit with baby?”  Ian pulled a face at her description of Mickey and Svetlana huffed mulishly in response.  Ian felt like he had always had an understanding with Svetlana regarding Mickey and his place as Yevgeny’s father.  Although they had never spoken about the day the boy was conceived, he had always assumed that Svetlana was in agreement that the situation was beyond fucked up.  Now he wasn’t so sure, and he wasn’t even sure how to address the unease that was taking residence in his chest.  He had convinced himself that they didn’t need to talk about it at all.  He realized how wrong he was in that conviction.

 “Svet…”  he thought about what he wanted to say, and he chose his words carefully. “You know…Mickey has been seeing a therapist inside…I think maybe he has accepted how Yev-“

 “Oh, he accept it!  So is all ok then, yes?”  She broke in heatedly and Ian was horrified with the wobble in her voice and the tremor in her bottom lip.  Ian had to look away and played it off as if he was looking to check on Yev.  He watched him run gleefully from the bottom of the slide back to the stairs of the playground structure.  The Ball twins hot on his heels as they chased after him.  He turned back to Svetlana and noticed that she had straightened her face but her eyes were filled with tears that he wasn’t sure he could watch fall. 

 “Svet,” he said as gently as he could as he tentatively reached across the table to grab her hand, but she caught the action and moved her hand to her lap, out of his reach.  He had spent so much time hating her.  She represented everything that he couldn’t have, she was this immovable force that stood in the way of his happiness.  The guilt hit him with an intensity that knocked the breath right out of him.  It was easy to put the blame on her.  A small part of his brain reminded him that he did a lot of selfish things as he was unraveling.  Even if it was a valid excuse, the damage was still done.  The proof of that was sitting right in front of him.

 “I don’t…” He began again but he was worried that the words he wanted to say, needed to say to her would get jumbled on the trip from his brain to his mouth.  He had never allowed himself to think of Svetlana as a victim, but she was, wasn’t she?  He thinks back to the pieces of the story he has heard over the years of how she came to America.  What her life must have been like in Russia and how it probably didn’t get any better once she got here.  The guilt continued to grow and take residence in his chest and it must have showed on his face because he watched the light come back to her eyes as she nodded at him. 

 “You understand now?”  She asked him, her usual confidence back in her voice.  He nodded at her, still unwilling to say the wrong thing.  “Is good, me…you, we in book together then, yes?”

 “On the same page.”  He mumbled the correction but nodded none the less. 

 “Page…book…is same thing, no?  You say he change, he on page too then?”  Ian nodded again.  They hadn’t explicitly talked about Svetlana, especially in relation to that day but if this was a way he could make some of the guilt recede, he would make sure Mickey was on the same page.  He was glad he didn’t have to have this conversation verbally with Svetlana, he still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t anger her, and it was kind of frustrating to feel like he was walking on egg shells with her.  But it also meant that they understood each other on a level that didn’t require verbal communication, which was starting to make a dent in the guilt size hole in his heart.

\-------

 By the time Ian made it home, it was close enough to four o’clock that he jogged up the stairs to wait for Mickey’s phone call in the privacy of his room, thankful that he didn’t run into any wandering Gallagher’s on his way.  He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him as his phone buzzed in his hand.  He looked down at the screen and the same number as before, that he now recognized as the prison’s, flashed across it.  He quickly tapped the green button so that the call would connect.  After he accepted the charges, he heard the static of the same shitty phone line from earlier.

 “Mick?” He breathed out, adrenaline and nerves caught up with his breathing pattern.

 “Yeah, hey.” Mickey sounded more confident than the start of their first phone call, which seemed to have a calming effect on Ian and his breathing.

 “How was the rest of your day?”

 “Oh ya know….got Jello with my lunch so things are lookin up.”  Ian laughed at this and it felt so good to have a normal conversation.  He could pretend that Mickey was at home and they were only talking on the phone because they were both too lazy to go to the other’s house.  He almost didn’t want to start the conversation that he knew he needed to have. Mickey must have picked up on his silence because his thoughts were interrupted with a, “what’s up, Ian?”

 “Ah…well, I have to talk to you bout somethin’ and I’m just not sure how…to start?” His voice raised at the end like he was asking a question and he heard Mickey laugh through the line.

 “Just start talkin, your ramblings will get you there, chatty cathy.”  Ian squawked in protest and he heard Mickey laugh again.

 “You’re such a dick.”  But he was laughing too and he was struck again by how normal this all felt and how he was going to ruin that feeling.  “Ok, so…Svetlana was sitting next to me when we talked earlier and she heard me tell you that I’d get her and Yev to come visit and it did not go well.”  Mickey made a noise through the line that Ian couldn’t interpret so he quickly added, “at first, it didn’t go well at first, but it’s good now.  It’s just. I have to talk to you about something.  And I’m not really sure if it’ll upset you, but-“

 “Ian? Just say it man.”

 “Uh, ok. Yeah, I’ll just say it.  Right, ok.  So, the conversation with Svet kinda made me see things differently.  I had always blamed her, ya know?  It was easier to blame her for everything that was fucked up between us.  But, shit…you should have seen her fucking face today, Mick.  It just made me realize how fucked up her life has been too, ya know? And she was held at gun point too.  She didn’t ask for any of this anymore than we did, ya know?”  Ian stopped speaking to catch his breath and was about to continue when Mickey spoke up.

 “Yeah…I know, man.  I think about that too.  Well, the shrink kinda pointed it out.  My misplaced anger.  That’s what he called it.  Well, I mean.  I still got a shit ton of anger directed at the right person.  But yeah.  I know, Ian.”  Ian let out a breath and realized he had been holding it when he started gulping for air.  The relief flooded through him that Mickey was the person he believed him to be and then he felt his face heat with the shame for doubting him.

 “Ok.” He breathed. “That’s…good.”  He laughed then as the seriousness of the conversation floated away and he started to feel giddy for the future.  “She said next time I visit, she’ll come with me, is she still on your list?”

 “Yeah, I never took her off.  That’s…Ian, I don’t think I could ever thank you enough for this.”  Mickey didn’t have to continue for Ian to know what he meant.  For bridging the gap with Svetlana, for cultivating a relationship, not only with her but with his son as well.  So that Mickey could have a relationship with Yevgeny.  Ian wasn’t sure how to respond seriously so he went for a joke that would hopefully make them both laugh.

 “Hey, it’s the least I could do after, ya know, the whole kidnapping thing.”  His tone was light but there was still a beat of silence on the other end of the line when he laughed.  But before his anxiety could work its way into his stomach, Mickey let out a loud, startled laugh, which set them both off.


	7. Mickey gets hit right in the feels

Mickey was nervous.  Although, he’d never admit that to another human being.  Maybe Ian.  Okay, maybe the shrink too.  Fuck, what has his life come to.  He had people.  The shrink had called it a support system, but that was something he definitely wasn’t ever going to call it or tell another human being.  Even Ian.  Especially Ian.  Ian had mentioned his counselor talking about support too though, so he could probably tell Ian.  But he probably wouldn’t.  He’d already admitted how too much of this shit had affected him in ways that he never thought it would.  Fuck, he can even empathize with fucking Svetlana now.  And since when did he use words like fucking empathize.  This was exactly why he was never going to talk about having a fucking support system.  If he’s not careful, he’ll be taking fucking yoga next.  Fuck that.  He really couldn’t argue with the results though.  But he was definitely drawing the line at yoga. 

 Mickey’s foot bounced uncontrollably with the nerves he didn’t want to admit that he was experiencing as he waited for visitation to be called.  Ian had told him that he had been talking to Yev about him but he’s still not sure how the kid is going to react to him.

 “Milkovich! Visitation, let’s go!” The guard’s shout interrupted his thoughts, but it was just as well.  His thoughts weren’t going anywhere constructive at this point and none of the tricks the shrink had taught him were helping anymore.  Mickey folded into the line of inmates and walked through the familiar maze of hallways to the visitation room.  He had seen other kids visit and nobody ever got in trouble for hugging their kid, but would Yevgeny even let him hug him?  Mickey was no more an expert in toddlers than he had been in infants after Yev was born, but Mickey definitely wouldn’t want a hug from some strange man.  He really couldn’t blame Yev if he rejected the hug.  He should have talked about this with Ian some more.

 Mickey’s eyes found Ian’s as soon as he entered the doorway and he watched as Ian whispered something to Yevgeny, who was sitting on Ian’s lap.  Mickey looked around because Svetlana was not at the table with them.  He spotted her against the opposite wall and nodded at her when he caught her eye.  She nodded back once and before they could continue their weird silent conversation they were having, Mickey was forced to turn back to Ian at the sound of his name coming out of the redhead’s mouth.

 The sound was muffled by a higher pitched voice calling out, “daddy!”  Before he could even process the jolt in his chest at that, he had an arm full of toddler.  Yevgeny had run towards him and leapt forward.  Without second guessing himself, Mickey had leaned down and scooped Yev up.  Like this was something they did every day.  Like Mickey was just coming in from work on a random Tuesday and Yev was welcoming him home.

 “Hey buddy.”  Mickey wasn’t sure he recognized his own voice and he definitely didn’t want to know what his face was doing in this moment.  Instead, he buried it in Yev’s hair as the toddler smashed his own face into Mickey’s neck.  Mickey felt tiny hands at the scruff of his neck and tiny feet at the small of his back.  He tightened his own arms around Yev’s little body and got lost in the feel of his son in his arms.  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Yev finally pulled his head back and moved his hands to cup Mickey’s cheeks.  Yev patted his cheeks a couple times and his eyes sparkled as he took in his father’s face.  Mickey resisted the urge to squirm under the surprisingly intense scrutiny of the toddler.  Yev’s eyes were all Milkovich, but damn did he remind Mickey of Svetlana.  Mickey had apparently passed toddler muster because Yev was soon smiling and talking at him happily.   

 “Daddy, Een say all bout.  Say daddy ‘ove me…an miss me an…an! An him give Yevy two hugs…say, hug from me! Hug from daddy!” Mickey could listen to this kid, _his kid,_ chatter on for hours if he was allowed to.  He was struck again by how much gratitude he felt for Ian, for making this moment possible.  He looked over Yev’s head as he walked closer to the table where Ian sat and met the other man’s eyes.  Ian’s face was probably a decent reflection on what Mickey’s face was currently doing.  Ian provided a watery smile and quick shrug of his shoulders.

 “That’s right Yev, I do love you, so much and I miss you tons!”  Mickey wasn’t sure until this moment that his voice was even capable of the tone that just eked out, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  He turned Yev around in his lap so that he faced Ian as he sat at the table.  Mickey held eye contact with Ian as Yev continued to prattle on to both of them, even to Svetlana occasionally.  Mickey reached his arms around Yev’s middle, bracketing him in his embrace.  He placed his hands blindly onto the table that sat between him and Ian.  He felt Ian’s hands meet his in the middle and he tangled their fingers together, only cutting eye contact in brief flashes to turn towards Yev when his babble was directed at him.

 After a few minutes though, it was clear that Yevgeny wasn’t a fan of being stuck between his father’s arms or sitting still for that matter.  Then the kid kneed him right in the balls when he made his escape and Mickey had to hold his breath and let it out in slow measured puffs so that he wouldn’t pass out from the onslaught of sudden pain.  Once he came back to reality, he noticed that Yevgeny was now sitting comfortably on Ian’s lap, still as a statue.  Well, what the fuck.  His face must have reflected at least some of those thoughts because Ian pulled out a bag that Mickey hadn’t even noticed was by his feet. 

 He watched as Ian started pulling out little green army men and handing them to Yev, one at a time.  Yev would then painstakingly place each figure exactly how he wanted it on the table before he had a whole platoon of army men.  When Mickey paid attention to the placement of the men, however, it looked like they were set up like bowling pins.  Sure enough, Ian pulled a little ball out of the bag next.  Yevgeny threw the ball at the army men more than bowled it and missed the table completely. 

 “Oh fuck!” Mickey had to do a double take to make sure that exclamation had come from his son.  He raised an eye brow at Ian who shrugged in a ‘what can ya do’ sort of way.  Mickey supposed that was true, Yevgeny had probably heard every cuss word under the sun and then some.  Still, Ian scolded Yev and reminded him not to use those kinds of words.

 Yev was unmoved by the admonishment, apparently too busy to care.  He was not to be deterred with his failure as a bowler either because he quickly climbed off Ian’s lap and ran after the ball.  Mickey looked around, only slightly panicked, as he remembered that they were in an actual prison and his son was running away from the table in a room full of inmates.  Yevgeny was back at the table, arm cocked for another throw, before Mickey could enter full blown panic territory though. 

 “He loves to knock over his army men like bowling pins, he just hasn’t mastered the bowling part yet.” Ian was explaining, but Mickey was too distracted by the sight of his son gleefully hurling his ball into his army men like a one-toddler wrecking crew.  He got a direct hit on his second attempt and immediately turned to look at Ian, beaming.  Mickey’s heart clenched, and he stamped down the jealously of Ian being on the receiving end of that look instead of him.  Dealing with jealously had been a new adventure in the recreation of Mickey Milkovich.  Feeling jealous meant you actually had to admit there were feelings at all and while Mickey had made leaps and bounds in digging himself out of his pit of denial, it was still a struggle when it was smashed into his face like this.  The shrink had made noise about jealously being irrational but fuck.  It still fucking hurt.  Whatever, he could deal with this.  So his kid liked Ian more than he liked his own father.  It’s not like it was the worst thing to ever happen to him.

 Once again, Ian the fucking mind reader, stood up and put Yevgeny where he had just been sitting and started picking up the army men that fell to the floor.  “Yev, why don’t you ask daddy to help put your guys back in their spots, huh?”

 Yevgeny looked over at Mickey at that like he had forgot Mickey was even fucking there.  He smiled though, big and bright, and directed at Mickey.  Fuck.  Mickey’s heart wasn’t going to be able to survive this fucking visit.  Yevgeny scrambled to get to his feet on the bench and started placing the army men back into formation.  Mickey didn’t move a muscle and Yevgeny looked back over to him, “Help, daddy?”  Fuck if he could refuse that shit.

 Mickey took his army men placement duties very seriously.  Once they were all set to the toddler’s satisfaction, Yev climbed down to floor and looked to Ian again.  What the fuck.  What did he have to do to get his kid to like him?  Ian handed him the ball and Mickey felt foolish.  Of course, he was just getting his fucking ball.  Ball in hand, Yev threw it again at the army men.  He repeated this process a couple more times before he started running in circles around the table.  All the reading Mickey had done and he hadn’t thought to read a fucking parenting book.  He was so far out of his depth, he felt hot all over with shame.

 And now Ian was fucking apologizing, “Sorry, Mick, there’s just not much for him to do here.”  Mickey didn’t really know what that had to do with anything, there was plenty to do.  Clearly, Mickey needed to learn how to play with a toddler.  He chastised himself for coming into this visit so outrageously unprepared.  While he was bathing in self-doubt, Yevgeny apparently had plans of his own on that topic.  Before he even realized what was happening, Yev’s little fists were tight around the fabric of Mickey’s pants and one leg was thrown over Mickey’s knees as he attempted to climb back up onto Mickey’s lap.

 Once he was on his perch, he reached onto the table and grabbed a Hot Wheels car that Mickey hadn’t noticed before.  “Cah daddy, see? Vrooooom.” Yev squealed before launching the car across the table and onto the floor.  Mickey had started to notice a theme with his kid.  Ok, so maybe it wasn’t too hard.  Yev seemed pretty into destruction and Mickey could get behind that.  He looked down and saw several other cars in front of Yev just waiting to be flung.  Mickey laughed, he knew what he needed to do.

 “Yeah, Yev, these cars go pretty fast huh?” He took one of the cars and propelled it across the table like Yev had just done.  He was rewarded with the sweetest sound in existence as Yev giggled while he watched the car fly off the table.  He looked back up at Mickey with a smile.

 “Cah fast, daddy!”  Movement across the table caught his eye and he looked up and found Ian smiling at him, a big and dopey grin.  It made Mickey smile back just as dopily.  All he had to do was act like a kid here.  Mickey wasn’t sure he acted like a kid even when he was a kid.  He pushed that thought out as soon as it slipped into his head though.  He wasn’t going to bring his feelings about his shitty childhood into his visit with his own child.

 So he focused on Yev.  And the way he stumbled around sometimes like a drunk person would.  The way he bumped into every fucking thing.  The way he ran around without a care in the fucking world.  At one point he even toddled over to another inmate and Mickey’s earlier panic returned but he ran over and swooped Yev up before he allowed the panic to settle.  Once Mickey just fucking relaxed and recognized that Yev was always going to defer to Ian or Svetlana because he was in fucking prison and they weren’t, the visit was ok.  More than ok, who was he kidding, it was fucking amazing.

 Not for the first time, he had thoughts swirling around the things the shrink had been trying to impress upon him.  This time, it was something about acceptance being the key to happiness.  Accepting how things were and if you couldn’t or wouldn’t accept it, then all you had to do was change it.  It had seemed so impossible when the shrink first brought up the topic but now, Mickey could see that it was obviously the only direction he was ever going to take.  This visit had illustrated that so clearly for Mickey and his resolve to fight his appeal was that much stronger for it.  He was never going to tell the shrink about this.  Ok, maybe he would.  He probably would.  The guy always seemed to know anyway and it’s not like Mickey isn’t grateful for everything he had done for him.  So he would tell the shrink and nobody else.  Well, maybe Ian too.  He looked up into the familiar green eyes, at the face that was smiling at him with nothing but love and smiled back.  Definitely Ian.


End file.
